A few of my favorite things..

I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted. 
~Jack Kerouac 

Monday August 8, 2016
Day 81
Coppet, Switzerland

Where do I want to go?
I lay in bed after work dreaming happily of all the wonderful this world has to offer.
Do I want to search for the Loch Ness monster in Scotland? Or catch their national animal-the unicorn somewhere in the misty forests of the Highlands?
Do I want to explore castles and sunsets and drink a good beer in Bavaria Germany? Explore the places that inspired the Brothers Grimm’s to write such haunting tales? All the castles in Germany that come straight from fairy tales? Run my fingers over the Berlin wall and feel all the history that it holds.. if those walls could speak..
Do I want to swim in the most gorgeous waterfalls I’ve ever seen that look like fairy pools at Piltvice Lakes in Croatia? Taste the fresh fish caught fresh off the Dalmatian coast?
Do I want to indulge my taste buds sip wine and eat pesto by the ocean in Italy? Visit the vineyards that make the most delicious wine?
Do I want to scour the rocky, cliff rimmed coast of Ireland looking for leprechauns in the mist? Drink some Irish whiskey with some good ol boys as they fill my ears with their beautiful accent? Sample some Guinness at the Storehouse? Learn to truly dance a jig to some lively Irish music at an authentic Irish pub?
Do I want to go on the hunt for Dracula and his friends in Transylvania and hear the mysterious superstitions of howling wolves and bloodthirsty vampires and meet the original gypsies?
Do I want to go to Kraków. The “proper place to experience Poland” and spend my days sipping Wodka and exploring old town’s secrets and sampling home-cooked Polish cuisine at a bar mleezny (milk bar)?
Or maybe I should compare the Swiss alps to the Italian alps… Or French alps.. Hike up and up and up until I’m up in the clouds, my heart and head dizzy with excitement?
Morocco sounds nice. Warm. Sandy. Exotic. Different. Colorful.
Or should I go back to France and buy a baguette and cheese and a bottle of wine and find an ancient castle to fall asleep in.. But you can’t see the stars in a castle… Maybe I’ll sleep in the courtyard…
Where in Europe can I get lost in nature for a few days? Who will be my new tour guide through the wild?
Also, I hear Prague is nice…
Amsterdam…
Experience the brilliant colors of the  northern lights up in Finland or Norway…
And most of all, I wish to trek through the jungles of Southeast Asia.. Taste the sun ripened fruit hanging low and heavy with sweet juicy delight. Swim in crystal clear waters. Play in the sand…

Where’s the most beautiful ocean?

Where can I find fairy tale forests?

Can you take me through a lush green jungle/forest with a raging waterfall with droplets of rainbows drifting off?
Let’s build a rope swing over a crystal blue lake and take turns screaming as we let go and throw our bodies into the icy cold water and rise to the surface gasping for air, laughing and quickly clambering out to do it once more.
There’s so much I want to do.
I have nothing but time.
I want to make memories.
I am a dreamer. A dreamer I will be til the day I die.

Someone once dedicated the song “Free Bird” by Lynard skynard to me. Another was sure “Wildflowers” by Tom Petty was written about me. Yet another listened to “Wild Child” by Kenny Chesney and asked why I didn’t tell them I had asking written about me. And then there was the friend that turned to me and said that whenever he heard “I was born a unicorn” by the Unicorns he always smiled cuz I was such a unicorn in this world of horses (lol).

Whoever I end up with.. I hope he will accept my wanderlust… Just as my close friends understand… My need for adventure…My need to chase the new… To challenge the unknown… To believe in magic… To make flower crowns when we see wildflowers and eat berries on the side of the trail and look for faces in the gnarls of the trees as we walk by… To accept that I love to take off my shoes in the mud or leaf littered forest and feel the earth below me.
Understand that if I see waterfalls or rivers or lakes or oceans or even mud puddles my first instinct is to jump in and it’s difficult for me to hold back…
That I can dance in a club or festival and party til dawn just as I can get lost in the rhythm of the drums at a drum circle. I can go to a pub and cheer on the local football team or have a good laugh in the corner with friends new and old, but also adore more intimate gatherings with bonfires or hammocks or couches or music. But most nights I enjoy drinks with friends and watching the sunset color the the world around me and the sky open up to glittering stars. Connecting with other beautiful souls.
And there are many nights for simply sleeping. And others for shutting out the world with a good book… Or an intriguing travel story or historical fiction (or guilty pleasure) on Netflix..

That I recharge my soul through the moon. The sun. The stars. The woods. The trees. The mountains. The waters. The mud. The rain. The wind. The snow.

Someday I’ll find someone that understands. Not someone to tame me. Not settle me. Not trap me. But someone that will have the patience… allow me to slowly switch my priorities to finally having a physical home to get over the fear of a “normal life” doesn’t mean “boring” or “settling.” A family. And I will know. And he will know. And we will know. That although we might find a home, an address, our adventures will have just begun.

There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep rolling under the stars. 
~Jack Kerouac 

Polska!

“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs. But people more than anything else. You will need other people. And you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living, breathing, screaming invitation to believe better things.”
~Jamie Tworkowski
Thursday June 23, 2016
Day 33
Warsaw, Poland

I arrived at the hostel I hastily booked that morning after learning my friend I was riding to Warsaw with had changed plans and wasn’t staying the night. I was on my own in Warsaw. It was too late too look for a Couchsurfer. That’s ok, I figured that staying at a hostel would be a fun and different way of experiencing Warsaw. I already had a couple nights with locals and had the best time…

The hostel I checked into was empty. Not a soul. I asked the guy behind the desk what happened to everyone. He said that they were really slow and there were only 2 other people staying there (it was a 6 room, 32 bed room hostel) and they had gone to dinner.

Shit. I thought. I needed human interaction. I needed to talk to people in English.

The Friday before, I had arrived in Gizycko, Poland to my friends place and the whole weekend was full of vodka, new friends, more vodka, more friends, sun and sleeping on a sailboat. Monday came and my friend had to work. I barely saw him. I was at his house, not his sailboat, so everyday I walked an hour to the little town and wandered around, exploding, observing… Not many people spoke English. I had no one to talk to. I got lonely very quickly. I tried to learn a couple things in Polish, but not enough to make a conversation. As the week wore on, I wore out. I watched the sunsets amongst cows next to sprawling fields of hay and a myriad of wildflowers. I was happy in those moments. Swimming in the lake. Sunsets. Walking. Meandering.

Wandering through an old abandoned fortress….

But the loneliness was eating away at my soul and I reverted back to what I do when I’m overwhelmed with sad. I began to hate my body. I wrote in my journal nasty things about my scar and my arms and everything. It was easier to focus on that than the issue at hand.

So, needless to say, I was very disappointed when I learned I wasn’t going to make any friends at the hostel that night.

I went back to my room. 4 beds. I had my choice of any of them. I chose the one under the window that overlooked the street below. People were leaning towards each other over tables on the sidewalk with glasses of wine and bread baskets, laughing. Couples were holding hands across the table and gazing into each other’s eyes, deep in conversation. Families were crowded around tables, moms with little ones on their laps.

I debated… My first thought was to stay right where I was. In the room. Sleep early. Fuck it. I didn’t need dinner.

Buuuuutt a tiny voice challenged me.. This was my opportunity to go out by myself… Prove to myself that I can do this. And my last night in Warsaw.

A little history, I had an eating disorder when I was 16-24. I was hospitalized once due to low weight and went to an eating disorder treatment center three times for 4+ months each. I still struggle with certain things… Body image.. Restaurants alone.. Eating in general. The utter loneliness of this past week was kicking it back in gear.

But I decided to go out anyway.

“Just a beer and a nice soup” I said to myself. “I can do this.”

I walked up and down the street. Everyone was happy. No one was sitting alone. Everyone has someone, or multiple someone’s. I tried to keep my spirits up, excited to eat some good food. But I could feel it all coming down. I heard Polish. I heard German. I even heard The occasional French. No English. I wandered down different streets in hopes of finding something. Nothing. It was getting late. Restaurants were closing. Anxiety begin to taint my thoughts. I would never find anything. I can’t do this.

Then I spotted a place with a huge outdoor patio. There were plenty of tables. Bright lights. I checked the prices. I checked the options.

Perfect.

The waiters seemed friendly. One smiled and brought me to my seat.

Perfect. I can do this. I looked around. Everything smelled amazing. I sat there. Time passed. Where was my waiter? I spotted him, crouched down, flirting with a table of young, pretty blond girls.

Okay. Sure. Whatever. He’s doing his job. He’ll come eventually. Fifteen minutes passed. Finally, he came over. Didn’t look at me, but flipped his note pad out and asked “What?”

Hmmmm… Did he mean what did I want? Was he going to finish his question?

Perplexed, I went ahead and ordered onion soup and a beer. I could see a smirk creep onto his face. He slapped the notepad shut, gave me a curt nod and left in a flurry, saying nothing.

Ok. Whatever. I occupied my time by looking around, dreaming of Barcelona (which is where I was flying to the next day), reminiscing on London and Paris and Concarneau and the previous weekend at Gizycko.

I snapped out of my reverie and checked the time.. 30 minutes had passed. People around me who ordered after me already had their food. Surely it couldn’t take that long to pour a beer and bring it over. I was within 10 steps of the bar. The restaurant wasn’t busy, it was clearing out, near closing. Three servers were milling about out front, joking with each other. My server was chatting it up with another group of ladies, this time they were older, fancy sophisticated women and his demeanor and voice had changed from his loose flirting with the younger ones.

Finally it came. The beer and the soup. The soup was bland. Unappetizing. The beer settled me a bit and I enjoyed every cold, crisp sip.

It’s bizarre to be in a place. So far from anyone I know. Not understanding anything people are saying. Not being able to read menus. Not being able to pay a proper compliment or reach out to people. In a good mood, which, honestly is most of the time, I would make attempts. Point at something on the menu and hope it wasn’t too gross… Find any way to connect with someone.. By hand gestures… The few words I knew in their language. But when I’m frustrated, dejected, lonely.. I tend to give up too easy.. Not a good habit of mine…

45 minutes after finishing, I still hasn’t heard a word from my server. Had barely seen him.

The laughter and happiness surrounding me felt like a slap in the face. My eyes began to water.

A sweet older lady server came over with sympathetic eyes and crouched down next to me. In perfect English she asked, “Honey, are you ok?”

And the dam burst. I couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t hide the sadness. I was drowning in lonely. I needed so badly to talk to someone. I broke down, sobbing, my body trembling. All the tables around stared at me.

She brought my check and I quickly paid and hurried back to my hostel. My eyes were blurry and still watering, it was difficult to see. I didn’t care who saw me. I wanted to go to my bed and call someone, anyone. Cry to them. I needed comfort.

But who would care enough to want to hear my sadness when I was living the life they dreamed of? It’s ok to be sad. Even on the epic journey through Europe. Adventure of a lifetime.

I had done such a good job moving around and keeping distance from people, trying hard not to rely on others that when it came down to it, I could think of no one that I knew well enough to talk to.

I went up to my room and cried for a good hour.

I never felt so alone. So scared that I had done such a good job of being independent that I had no one.

And I learned something.

I learned I need to work on something. Not just work on loving myself. But on trusting that the friends I HAD made really, truly did care, even if I hadn’t seen them in a year or two.

And at that moment. I yearned for stability. I wanted nothing more than a home to go home to. A job that I love and return home to a person I love. With bookshelfs of friendships and family. Pictures of my travels gracing the wall.

But I was alone. In an empty hostel in Warsaw, Poland. On a Thursday night at midnight.

And I eventually fell asleep, my pillow wet with disillusioned tears and my moms dreaming of the next adventure to come, hoping maybe this time, I’ll find a friend.

 

“The more I traveled the more I realized that fear makes strangers of people who should be friends.”
~Shirley MacLaine

Poland.

 

Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.
~Ibn Battuta

Wednesday July 15, 2016
Day 24
Warsaw, Poland

I just flew into Poland. Excitement was high. I had no idea what to expect. There money was not Euros, so the first thing I had to do was pull out Polish money and find my way to my first couch surfers place. Thankfully, he gave me pretty good directions.

Take the train to the central station then take the trolley that goes in the middle of the road to the street where he lived.
But of course, I got lost.
I was nervous.
Alone in a huge city.
My phone wasn’t picking up wifi so I had no idea how to get ahold of my couch surfer to ask him for more specifics… I spoke no Polish so was scared to talk to anyone after attempting to talk to people in France ( my “Parlez-vous anglais?” was more often than not greeted with stuck up noses and pure disgust).
So I stood there, at an intersection of an underground train station with people hurting in all 4 directions. I was lost.
Just as I was about to look for a bathroom (What’s bathroom in Polish again?) to hide from the crowds for a bit a nicely dressed man in a crisp blue button up and newly ironed khakis walked up to me and asked, in English, with quite a thick Polish accent, “Do you need help? Welcome to Poland!”
Relief flooded through me. Anxiety quickly erased as this beautiful stranger looked up directions to the trolley stop (down the hallway until I reached the McDonalds and turn left and take the first ….) and timetables on when the next one would come (10 minutes) and how long it would take (35 minutes).
45 minutes later I was at my couchsurfer’s place. The trolley dropped me off in what some would describe as the ghettos. Huge concrete buildings with tiny balconies. The bare sides of the building were covered in beautiful street art and giant dinosaurs and faces and trees towered over the dirty streets. It was run down, but in a quaint, safe kind of way.
I always get that rush of excitement and nervousness when I first meet up with my couchsurfer.
Will they like me? Am I enough? Do I live up to their expectations? What do they expect? I wonder what their plan is for the night? I hope they don’t want to stay up until 6am… I am tired. Did they eat already? I am hungry, should I have picked up something? I wonder how the couch feels. Oh mannnnn, should I have already picked up some vodka? I bet they have some.. what if they don’t! I wonder what stories they have. What can I teach them? Will I be entertaining enough? I wonder if they like chocolate and Haribo as much as me… etc.etc.etc.
He turned out to be grrrrrrrreat! A tiny little apartment up on the 9th floor with a gorgeous view of Warsaw. We went to a shop to get some more supplies for dinner. He took me to the vodka section, it IS Poland after all.. and Ohhhh mannnnnn
A WHOLE WALL OF VODKA!!!!!!
There was clear vodka and caramel colored vodka and flavored vodka and dude… I was in heaven.
We bought some and skipped off to this darling little beach on the river between two bridges and sat down just in time to catch the sunset. We bought three little bottles of vodka and spent the evening swapping stores, sipping from the different flavors, digging out toes into the sand and watching the people all around us. It was a beautiful summer vibe.
The sunset was breathtaking. The vodka was tasty, warming us up from the inside as the breeze grew stronger with the progression of the nightfall.
My favorite bits of couchsurfng.
The local spots.
The story swapping.
Always inspiring. Always leaving me wanting more. Always making me dream of what life would be like to live in that particular place. Bewildering me with the fact that some people grew up in that place. They get to do these things I fall in love with each place I go anytime they want. These places these couchsurfers take me to have stories, have history with these places they take me to. There is a reason why they take me to these places.
Their ordinary is my extraordinary.
And I always think, maybe this is home? Maybe this is where I should be?
Because right there, in that moment, with that stranger that is quickly becoming a good friend, in that new place that makes my heart melt with happy, I feel at peace. I am where I am meant to be at that moment. And nothing can take those moments away from me.
Those places the couchsurfers take me to. The conversations we have. The stories we swap. The laughter we share. We rocket forth from strangers to best friends in mere hours.
I love it.
I truly do.
Couchsurfing is by far my favorite way to travel and to meet people.